


Sing (to the rhythm of my war cry)

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types, Walking Dead
Genre: Gen, season 5 - "Slabtown" spoilers, the little lioness stretches out her claws and purrs basically, vague references to past suicide attempt/suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2573966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're not strong enough."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing (to the rhythm of my war cry)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's "The Walking Dead," wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: Because "Slabtown" gave me a surprising amount of feels. Spoilers for 5x04 and allusions to possible spoilers for the mid-season finale. This drabble is set in the scene where Noah escapes and Beth is captured, being cuffed on the ground in the hospital parking lot.
> 
> Warnings: *Contains: fandom appropriate violence, adult language, adult content, violence, reference to past suicidal thoughts/suicide attempt.

" _You're not strong enough."_

It wasn't the first time she'd heard it. Being the youngest of her siblings, the phrase had taken many different forms over the years. The end of the world had only sharpened the words, making them blunt and unkind.

That was one of the things she'd noticed first, other than the obvious. Because along with the internet and the power grid, people stopped choosing their words. She supposed it was because of the lack of consequences. With no one left to answer to, people could say whatever they wanted, no longer having to cede to politeness or hold themselves back out of some altruistic unwillingness to wound.

After all, why pause to think things through when tomorrow was nothing more than a slim hope and the lord's best guess?

Some days she thought they were lesser for it.

For letting the small parts of civility slide.

But then again, there were others where she thought that taking a page out of Daryl's 'how-to' guide for dealing with the world in general, also had its moments.

Daddy would cringe to hear the words coming out of her mouth these days, cussin' and the like. But when she let herself think on it, she allowed herself the pleasure. Because if cussin' was the worst thing she'd fallen to since all this started, she figured she was still within range of heaven's halo.

* * *

Too young.

Too blonde.

Too small.

Too nice.

Too delicate.

Too little.

Too stupid.

Too innocent.

Too skinny.

Too dull.

Too weak.

Too much of this.

Too little of that.

And maybe they were right.

She shook her head, flirting with the memory as a cruel knee dug into her spine. Wrenching her hands behind her back as the world devolved into shouting and distant gunshots.

I  _can_  be strong.

I  _will_ be strong.

_I am strong._

Or maybe _she_  was right.

_Maybe you didn't have to change to be strong._

Maybe you could just be.

* * *

" _See, they think I'm scrawny. They think I'm weak. But, they don't know shit about me, about what I am…About what you are."_

* * *

The dirty blacktop sand papering across her lips tasted like decay and a full year's drought. Acidic and mean in a way she didn't recognize despite all those weekend trips into the city back before all this. Maggie had been off at college, Shawn and Daddy too busy trying to make themselves scarce when she'd looked at her mom with pleading eyes and said those two words guaranteed to have any man running for the hills.

_Clothes shopping._

She'd had her mom all to herself then.

Better times.

_Good times._

A spit of gravel rasped across her skin, kissing freckles and the puffy tightness of a healing scar.

Because that was the point, wasn't it?

Everything healed in time.

It was the scars that stuck with you.

That reminded you what you'd survived.

…what you could survive  _again_.

* * *

If her life was a story - one of those silly books she'd read under the covers with a flashlight because Daddy had called lights out over half an hour before - she imagined that this would be the moment the audience would be shouting.

_Why are you smiling? You just got caught!_

The corners of her lips dared to tug upwards as Noah limped through the gates. She caught a glimpse of him after they took her down, meeting eyes through the chain-link fence as he looked back at her. Regret, grief and indecision etched deep across the stress lines until the walkers tried to close the gap. Forcing him to keep running.

She hoped he never stopped.

She hoped he'd get away from this place.

That he'd cross the state line and find his mother.

That they'd be safe.

Happy.

_Together._

More than anything that was why she smiled.

Because Noah was free and she'd proved them wrong – both of them had.

_They were strong._

Everything else, like what happened to her now, was beneath her - unimportant in the grand scheme of things. She'd done what they'd said she couldn't. She'd raised the stakes and called their buff. According to the rules of the game, it was only fair to let them play their last card.

Because either way you looked at it, she was going home.

 


End file.
